


Salvage Job

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, Missing Scene, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:06:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael's betrayed Fiona, but that doesn't mean she needs to take it lying down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvage Job

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LadiesBingo, prompt, "Betrayal".

The plane took off, and Michael was gone – floating away to his first job under whatever cover he’d agreed to take for the FBI. What - or who – he would be in the next five hours, Fiona didn’t know, nor did she try to give a damn. 

So this was how it ended for them.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected the choice to come up somehow. Even when they’d moved in together, when he’d made a bench for her snowglobes and they’d started sharing a bed together she’d always been waiting – fearfully, and yet in complete certainty – for him to abandon her there, just as he had in Ireland.

He hadn’t even left her breakfast this time.

She wrapped her arms protectively around her midsection as she was hustled into a car by some stone-faced FBI recruit. When asked to give an address, she blanked; the loft was gone. Imposing on Madeline would be wrong. But then, with a bright, quick flash, she recalled an address and a name and they slid, without benediction from her lips. 

“The Terrace.” 

The smoked out windows prevented her from watching any more of the action, but she knew that the limo had peeled off in pursuit of the one carrying Sam to the same address. She managed a smile.

She knew he would take care of her.

*** 

It was funny to lean on him now, but lean she did. He and Elsa set her up in a small suite, and Sam went so far as to offer his services in helping her dig out what was left of her life back at the loft. 

She could take his offer of assistance, but his pity she could not. It was the sadness in his eyes – the need to make it all better and to knock a little sense into Michael’s head – that got her dander up at at last. Where was the Sam who had hated her for so many years, who had accused her so often of leading poor sweet Michael astray? She missed him – his anger would have bolstered hers along quite beautifully, but she remained determined to live on the fumes of it.

Wine and caviar were her fortification. When he came around with a limo to pick her up, she was ready.

*** 

The loft had survived fairly well; it had been a simple fire that had burned away the interior but left the exterior almost purified, its white belly peering up through the rust and dirt that had crusted it for years. In the rubble and wreckage of their past lives, Fi found scraps of her old world; a shard of a plaster castle, a bit of metal-studded high heel, the stub nose of an old rifle. Portion of a world that would never be hers.

Under the pile of ash and rubble, she found a little shiny something, glimmering in the soft light of her flashlight. A spent shell casing from Michael’s gun. 

She had one of these from O’Neil; it served as a reminder to avoid vulnerabilities. Taking the sun-dart of death between her fingers, Fi took heart.

She squeezed it tight in her fist.

Vengeance would be hers some day.

The ache within her breast grew and grew and threatened to scratch its way to the surface of her skin like a scream trapped deep within her throat.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Burn Notice** , all of whom are the property of the **USA Network**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
